


as the world caves in

by myztixz



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Post-Game(s), Post-New Dangan Ronpa V3, Survivor Guilt, i kinda made it up, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25917829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myztixz/pseuds/myztixz
Summary: Healing is a process - a hard one at that. Shuichi knows that.We creep up on extinction, I pull your arms right in.I weep and say goodnight, love, while my organs pack it in.
Relationships: Harukawa Maki & Saihara Shuichi & Yumeno Himiko
Kudos: 23





	as the world caves in

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to a very rushed fic that I wrote in like 3 hours but I needed to get this idea out before I forgot it lmao ,,, i listened to as the world caves in, this is home, sweet hibiscus tea and goodbye to a world while writing so listen to them if u want  
> enjoy! i cried while writing this lol

Healing is a process - a hard one at that. Shuichi knows that. But, even with his detective’s intelligence, he can’t help but be infuriated at himself for not being able to put the pieces of himself back into place quicker. He knows that it takes time, but he can’t help but feel inferior to the two girls that have grown into themselves around him. They tell him that it’s okay, it’s okay to feel the way he does and that he has a lot to deal with and that they’ll always be there for him - but he still feels guilty that he can’t rise up from the ashes like he did trial after trial, that he can’t be strong for Maki and Himiko. He feels weak. But that’s okay, he’s told. That’s okay.

It’d been about a year since the killing game, but to Shuichi it still felt like they’d escaped that jail cell of a dome just yesterday. Maki and Himiko had pulled through, pushed against that empty feeling that seemed to wind them when they’d stepped into reality. Their nightmares had dwindled down over the year, and they had gradually come to terms with their lives. Himiko had taken up painting, as recommended by their group therapist. Maki had taken up sewing. It had seemed to help, had become a way to distract themselves from the feeling of impending doom that was laced tightly into their brains. Shuichi, at Himiko’s suggestion, had taken up the piano.

He hadn’t touched it in months. 

The nightmares are still frequent, gory memories of crime scenes and executions causing him to wake up in a panic, chest heaving and tears falling with the feeling that his lungs were filling with water, the feeling that he couldn’t breathe. Sometimes he screamed when he woke up, sometimes he didn’t. Even so, there was always somebody there to calm him - more often being Maki than Himiko - and he could try to catch that sleepy feeling again as they held him in their arms and ran their fingers through his hair. 

They’d given up sleeping alone about a month after they escaped. Even before they’d decided on sharing a bed, they’d often ended up falling asleep on the couch, the soft melody of one of Kaede’s Clair de Lune recordings playing in the background of a moonlit living room, with heads leaning on shoulders and arms & legs intertwined. Himiko was the reason they’d decided to do it, often crawling into bed with Maki or Shuichi in the early hours of the morning after a nightmare. Eventually, Maki suggested that they should buy a king-size bed, and so they did, turning Himiko’s old bedroom into an art room and Shuichi’s into a music room. The nights were easier to handle after that, fears melting away under the warm hold of the two other survivors, Himiko’s light snoring being almost grounding. Waking up and seeing the rise and fall of his friend’s chests was calming.

Going outside was a whole other issue. At first, an employee from the now disbanded Team Danganronpa would go grocery shopping for them, but Maki ended up taking over. On the odd occasion, they’d go out as a trio, Shuichi latching on to one of the girls to bring the anxiety down even the tiniest bit. He’d expected to be stared at, but there was something so unnerving about the adoration and jealousy that glistened in the eyes of the public around them. People asked for pictures, spoke excitedly about how much they loved his performance and he would grimace. Performance. Like it was part of some kind of play. He was thankful for Maki being with him, glaring daggers at them while calmly giving them a firm no, that that was enough. They avoided the aisles that were filled to the brim with Danganronpa merch, despite the fact that the team had disbanded. They had to make their money somehow, Shuichi thought.

Some days they’d busy themselves with their personal forms of therapy. Some days, it was quiet. They’d sit, sprawled on the sofa in their pyjamas, eyes staring at the flickering television but not taking anything in, fleece blanket covering the three of them. Some days, he’d let Maki mess about with his hair, seeing what hairstyles she could manage with how overgrown it was. She preferred to play with Himiko’s hair, though, after she’d let it grow out. Maki had cut her own, telling them it signified a fresh start, a detachment from the killing game. Shuichi wished he could be as brave as her.

He wanted to let go, he really did. But the fear that if he cut that memory out, came to terms with the game and moved on, he’d leave his classmates behind. That they’d have died for nothing, and that he’d forget them. He didn’t want to forget them, no matter their wrongdoings. He loved them all and they were gone, and he didn’t them to die in vain. Their faces were already starting to fade, and he wishes they weren’t. He wishes his memories were as vivid as they were before, wishes that he could keep that link between the living and the dead for as long as possible. He wishes that they hadn’t died. He thinks of each trial, adrenaline-filled convictions, despair-filled executions. They could have lived.

The guilt kicks in.

He hears Maki whisper something next to him. When did he start crying? Her rough hands reach up and wipes his flood of tears away, and Himiko wraps an arm around his back. The soft hum of the radio is blocked out by the echoing sobs that leave his body, and he feels himself being enveloped in the warm embrace of his fellow survivors. It’s okay, they whisper. You’re okay. You’re alive. You made it. It’s not your fault.

The doorbell rings, causing them all to look up towards the entrance of their house. Nobody visits them, nobody except the ex-Team Danganronpa members. Maki rises from her place in front of him, wandering towards the bell, and slowly unlocks the door. The other two join her. When the door is opened, there is nobody there. A large cardboard box is laid on their doormat, attached with a note signed with the name Kyoko Kirigiri.

Maki is the one to pick it up, hauling it into the living room and placing it gently on the coffee table that sits in the middle. Taking the note, she reads it aloud for the three of them to hear.

“To the Survivors of the Fifty-Third Killing Game,

You may be concerned as to where this came from, but do not fret. My name is Kyoko Kirigiri, former Ultimate Detective-”

Shuichi feels the girls look at him for a second.

“And a current member of the Future Foundation, the group in charge of dismantling your game. I, on behalf of the organisation, apologise for not delivering this any sooner. We were concerned as to whether this would hinder your recovery or not, and have therefore taken time to decide on when it was right to send you this. However, since the one year anniversary of your escape is oncoming, we, as a team, felt it was right to send you this.”

Maki paused, reading ahead slightly and letting a shaky breath leave her mouth. Himiko strokes her arm comfortingly.

“Enclosed in this package is what remains of your class - things that could be salvaged from the wreck. We know that this is far from the same as having your classmates returned to you, but we hope it can bring you some form of closure and do more good than bad.”

Shuichi’s eyes widened. Things that could be salvaged from the wreck? He presumed that meant items such as clothes, personal possessions, maybe things from their research labs? He wasn’t really sure what to think.

Maki finished off the letter by reading the woman’s contact details, along with a note stating the typical ‘contact me if you need anything’ that they always got. Then, hands shaking, she opened the box, greeted by an array of colours and items. Shuichi’s eyes scanned everything in it, taking it all in. Surprisingly to him, he didn’t immediately start crying.

On the very top, his hat was placed neatly on top of an old novel of his that he never had the chance to finish. Himiko’s hands immediately grabbed at a set of green and white ribbons that he assumed were Tenko’s. Underneath his items, a case filled with silver rings and necklaces sat, and next to that was a familiar pink v neck. One by one, they pulled each item out of the box, reminiscing on the friends they had lost. At the bottom of the box sat a large purple jacket, and next to that, a thick journal with sticky notes and drawings almost falling out of it. A black and white checkered scarf caught his attention. Next to these items was a yearbook, the words ‘53rd Class’ written in a fancy gold print on the cover. He takes it out, opening it and flipping through the pages. Each page was filled to the brim with pictures, letters, and drawings, an odd sense of familiarity blooming in his chest. He felt tears in his eyes, but for once not out of sadness or guilt - out of happiness. I guess that’s what happens, he thought, when the living meet the dead.

He was here, living and breathing. He’d survived. And even if his classmates hadn’t, they always would in his mind.


End file.
